New Town, Old Friends
by BstnStrg13
Summary: It's fifteen years since the Pony Express has shut down and Jimmy Hickok is working as a lawman. When he arrives in the latest in a long series of towns, he runs into an old friend. (Jimmy/Lou)


_A/N: I loved_ The Young Riders _when I was young, and was surprised to see it being rerun on GetTV recently. Sometimes shows I enjoyed as a kid don't stand up to an adult perspective, but I find I still really like it. I've always had a soft spot for westerns and the ensemble cast is great. Lou still holds a place as one of my favorite, feisty female characters._

 _Anyhow, this popped into my head..._

* * *

Hickok thought the town had a familiar feel to it, even though he couldn't recall ever being there before. He studied the brown wooden buildings and tried to remember its name as his horse carried him sedately down the main street. It was Something Springs - _Shallow_ Springs maybe? No…although he was certain that was close. But then these days, it seemed like every town was a Something Creek, or a Springs or a Trail. They all looked the same and they all ran together in his head like music from a saloon piano; tinkling notes, one following the other, none of them lasting very long.

Maybe it was because none of them was home.

Maybe it was because he didn't _have_ a home.

He'd always thought he'd settle down after the war. He'd find the right woman, put his name on the deed to a parcel of land and raise a handful of kids. The thought had kept him going many nights when he was scouting for the Union army, shivering in the driving rain or being chewed up by mosquitos. But then the war had ended with the Union victorious, and Hickok had found that he wasn't well suited to settling down. He had little education, no interest in being a farmer, and cattle tried his patience. They were smelly, irritable things that did nothing but eat, fart and try to kick you when you weren't looking. The only real skills he seemed to have were riding a horse and shooting a pistol.

Skills suited either to a gunfighter or a lawman.

He'd chosen lawman. Not because he thought he was above being a gunfighter, but because he thought it might have made Teaspoon proud, or at least have made the man smile. Teaspoon Hunter had been the closest thing Hickok had had to a father – that any of them had had to a father. Teaspoon had cared for the Pony Express riders with gruff tenderness and answered questions with an unflinching honesty that Hickok later discovered was rare. And when Teaspoon had picked up the badge and become marshal at Sweetwater and later Rock Creek, he'd been pretty damn good at that, too. If Hickok could do half the job Teaspoon had done, then he was doing okay.

Hickok wondered if Teaspoon were still alive. If he was, he'd be an old man now. It was more than ten years since the end of the war and almost fifteen since the Pony Express had shut down. Hickok was in his middle thirties and there were plenty of days when _he_ felt old. The hours in the saddle didn't pass so easily any more. His back ached and the dust from the road seemed to get everywhere – in his hair, his eyes and his boots. He didn't know what this new town had arranged for its Sheriff's accommodations, but he hoped they included the opportunity for a hot bath. He was sure there was ten pounds of dirt he could wash away.

Serenit _y_ Springs. That was the name of this town – _Serenity_ Springs. It was a nice name, and Hickok hoped the place lived up to its sobriquet. Lately it felt like the line between gunfighter and lawman was becoming uncomfortably blurred. There were too many men anxious to test their speed against the legendary Wild Bill, and Hickok found himself being called out regardless of whether he was wearing the tin star. There had even been a few times when he'd been the one doing the calling. Teaspoon had warned him not to rely on his gun as a first option because at some point it would become his only option. Sam Cain, the marshal at Sweetwater before Teaspoon, had warned him too. Hickok had listened, because both men had built their own reputations with a gun and spoke from experience. But despite their warnings, it seemed like his gun was becoming Hickok's answer in too many situations.

He spotted the Sheriff's office with its iron-barred windows halfway down the town's main street and guided his horse toward it. He almost laughed when she stopped of her own accord in front of the building. They'd done this so many times even she knew the routine. He dismounted and gave her a friendly pat, promising her water and a shady spot to rest shortly. Then he looked for the saloon.

Over the years he'd found that the saloon was the best way to locate the folks who'd hired him to be sheriff. He'd order a drink and find a card game, and pretty soon word that Wild Bill Hickok had arrived would blow through the town like a stiff prairie breeze. Then the councilman or mayor or whoever wanted him to preserve law and order would appear and they'd sort out the particulars of his salary and housing, and whether he'd have any deputies to help him. It almost never took long, and a shot of whiskey while he waited helped ease the ache in his joints.

Like most towns, Serenity Spring's saloon was located close to the jailhouse. Hickok thought this arrangement made sense because, in his experience, the saloon was a bountiful source of trouble. Mix tired men with alcohol, gambling and girls and you were sure to find one or two fellows who needed a jail cell to cool down in for a few hours. He started to walk toward the saloon, passing a small group of women who were chatting casually in front of the General Store. They didn't notice him so he didn't bother to tip his hat.

Then one of the women laughed and it brought Hickok up short. It was a distinctive laugh; not a high-pitched girlish giggle nor the quiet, low chuckle of a more mature woman. It was deep and throaty and reminded him of a similar laugh many years ago. When he'd first heard it, he'd thought it had belonged to a boy. Later, when that mistake had been rectified, he'd been surprised that such a robust sound came from such a small woman. Eventually, it had become one of his favorite things to hear, especially when he was able to make it happen.

He turned to look more closely at the women and he heard it again. There were four of them and he surveyed the faces one by one until he spotted her. She looked much the same - as slender as ever, her brown eyes large and her skin smooth and too tanned to be fashionable. The only thing that was different was her hair. For most of the time he'd known her she'd worn it as short as a boy's – shorter than his, even. Now it was long - braided in a thick, untidy coil down her back with loose wisps framing her face. Unlike the other women, she wasn't wearing a bonnet and the warm chestnut color shone in the sunlight.

"Lou?"

She turned immediately and stared at him for a few seconds before her face broke out into a smile.

"Jimmy!"

He nodded, and the next thing he knew she was up on her toes in front of him, reaching her arms around his neck to pull him into a tight hug. Her head was under his chin and he noticed she smelled like wildflowers and fresh hay, the same smell he remembered from their Pony Express days. He'd always wondered how she'd managed it; the boys would return from a ride smelling like dirt and horse sweat and Lou would smell like a meadow on a spring morning. When she'd first married The Kid, Hickok had thought more than once about the two of them in bed. He'd imagined The Kid burying his nose in her hair and smelling that flower-hay smell all night. It had made him think The Kid was a lucky man.

She dropped down from her toes but remained close, holding onto his forearms with both hands. The top of her head was level with his chest.

He grinned. "You don't seem all that surprised to see me." He was pleased that she'd recognized him so easily. Maybe fifteen years hadn't changed him as much as he'd thought.

She chuckled. "The ladies," she gestured at the remaining women who were now watching the two of them curiously, "were just telling me that the town hired you as Sheriff. We were talking about it five minutes ago. Next thing I know, I turn around and here you are. Your timing is perfect." She stepped back to examine his dusty clothes. "Did you just ride in?"

"Yes. Found the jailhouse and was headed to the saloon. Do you live in Serenity Springs?"

She glanced once more at the women. "Not in town. The Kid and I have a place about ten miles away. I only came in today to pick up a few supplies."

So, she was still with The Kid. Hickok had wondered about that from time to time. "Did The Kid come in with you?"

She shook her head. "Not this time. It's too bad. I can't wait to tell him the news - he's going to be sorry that he missed you." She pursed her lips thoughtfully and her eyes suddenly lit up. "You know, you should come back with me and tell him yourself," she said brightly. "Have dinner and spend the night at our place. We can catch up." She said it as if it were the obvious thing to do.

Hickok hesitated. The idea was appealing, but he probably owed it to the folks who'd hired him to stick around and start discussing his duties. They were paying him, after all. But then he looked at Lou's eager face and thought, _why not_? Dinner in a real home with two people he'd once thought of as family was a rare opportunity – even if it meant another two hours on the road. It was already after noon. He could come back into town tomorrow morning and meet with his employers then. One day wasn't going to make a difference.

He grinned once more. "Any chance for a hot bath at your house?"

Lou laughed. "I'm sure we can manage it."

"Then count me in."

"Great." Lou turned back to the women and picked up a basket covered with a cloth from the wooden sidewalk. "Thanks for the bread, Marjorie," she said to a woman in purple calico, gesturing with the basket. "I need to be heading home, but I'll be back with eggs next week." She hadn't introduced Hickok and the three women continued to stare at him with frank interest. He thought she might offer an explanation but instead she just said, "Good day, ladies," and took his arm, turning him gently in the direction of the jailhouse. Hickok could feel the women's eyes boring into his back as he and Lou walked away. He imagined that tongues would be wagging tonight at three dinner tables.

"Good friends?" Hickok asked.

Lou shrugged. "Not really," she said lightly. "They all think I'm an odd duck." That opinion clearly didn't bother her. "But they're good cooks," she added, "especially Marjorie, and I get bread from her whenever I'm in town. She and her husband come from back East – he runs the telegraph office. Be happy you'll be eating her bread tonight instead of mine. My domestic skills haven't improved a lot since our Pony Express days."

Hickok laughed. "Why doesn't that surprise me? What have you and The Kid been doing with yourselves instead?"

Lou smiled. "My wagon's down at the end of the street." She pointed to a spot a couple of hundred yards away. "You can hitch your horse to the back and I can tell you all about it on the way home."

"Sounds good." They reached the jailhouse and Hickok tugged his mare's rein loose from the rail. Then, leading his horse, he and Lou continued walking toward the buckboard she'd pointed out. It was standing in front of the feed store, being loaded with bags of oats by an older man and a boy. The man stood on the ground and hefted the bags up to the back of the wagon where the boy was standing; the boy then grabbed them and arranged them in some kind of order. The kid was tough, Hickok thought. Those bags looked like they weighed more than he did.

"All done?" Lou asked them, as she and Hickok arrived.

The boy nodded. "All done, Ma," he replied cheerfully. "We're ready to go."

Hickok stopped and turned to Lou. " _Ma?_ "

Lou laughed. "Yup. This is my oldest, James Ike. He'll be fourteen in a few months. You asked what The Kid and I have been up to? Well, he's one of the things we've been doing with ourselves."

Hickok stared at her. He'd never thought of Lou as a mother. Still… _James Ike_. They'd named a son after him – well, him _and_ Ike. He found the gesture gave him unexpected pleasure. "Your _oldest_?" he repeated. "How many do you have?"

Lou watched James Ike jump lightly off the end of the buckboard and ruffled his hair as he walked up to them. The boy had Lou's slender build but his eyes were bright blue like The Kid's, and he was already a little taller than her. He stared at Hickok with frank curiosity.

"The Kid and I have three – all boys," she answered. "William Noah is eleven and Little Buck is eight." She smiled ruefully. "I think it's my fate to be surrounded by boys. I keep hoping for a girl but," she shrugged, "I have a feeling that ship may have sailed. We're not young anymore."

"Oh, I don't know," Hickok replied. "You look the same as you ever did to me, Lou. You look good."

It wasn't a fib. She had a few crow's feet around her eyes and her face had leaned out and lost some of its softness, but she appeared as graceful and athletic as she'd been fifteen years ago when she was scrambling onto horses. And unlike so many women he met these days, she looked natural. Her face wasn't painted and he found her simple white shirtwaist and brown skirt more attractive than the corsets and bustles that women used under dresses to accentuate their hips and posteriors.

She could see that he meant the compliment and she blushed.

"Besides," he said to ease her embarrassment, "you and The Kid can't stop now. Sam and Teaspoon need namesakes too, not to mention Emma and Rachel."

She laughed again, her embarrassment gone. God, he loved that sound. "We weren't about to name a child 'Teaspoon,'" she said, "and his real name was Aloysius – did you know that? Didn't seem fair to saddle a kid with that, either."

It was Hickok's turn to laugh.

"Anyway," Lou continued, "you can meet them all when we get home. We should probably get going. The road's not great and it takes a couple of hours to get there. Plenty of time still to talk."

James Ike had been watching them closely. "Is he coming with us, Ma?" the boy asked.

Lou gave a wry shake of her head. "Where are my manners? No wonder the ladies think I'm odd. I hope you learn to be politer than your mother, Jimmy," she said to her son. She put a hand on the boy's shoulder and turned him to face Hickok. "This is James Hickock - your Uncle Jimmy," she said over his shoulder. "You've heard your Pa and I talk about him – we used to ride with him for the Pony Express."

The boy's eyes grew wide. "This is him? Wild Bill Hickok?"

Lou frowned. "It's your Uncle Jimmy," she repeated evenly. "James Butler Hickok. 'Wild Bill' is just a name made up in some dime novel."

Hickock extended his hand toward the boy. _Uncle Jimmy_ – who'd have thought it? An hour ago he was a stranger in Serenity Springs. Now he was _Uncle Jimmy_. "Pleased to meet you, James Ike," he said, as if addressing an adult. He'd always hated it when adults talked down to him.

The boy beamed and shook Hickok's hand. "Pleased to meet you, sir. I always thought Ma and Pa were telling stories when they said they knew you."

"Well, you'll have to repeat some of those stories to me and I'll let you know if they're true."

The boy laughed. He turned to Lou eagerly. "Can I drive home, Ma? Please?"

She frowned. "Only if you promise to watch where you're going. The last time you drove I swear you found every rut in the road."

"I'll watch."

"And take it easy on Dusty," she added, pointing to the horse hitched to the wagon. "He's not as young as he used to be."

"Yes, Ma."

"Alright, then. You can drive."

The boy grinned and clambered quickly up into the front of the wagon, taking hold of the reins. Hickok tied his mare to the back and he and Lou climbed more sedately onto the bench next to young Jimmy, with Lou sitting in the middle. Hickok noticed that she kept a shotgun in the wagon placed by her feet. He wondered if that was in any way related to Serenity Springs needing a sheriff. He decided to save that question for later. If there was big trouble in the area, Lou would have told him already.

The boy clucked and Dusty the Horse began moving away from the town at a steady trot. James Ike seemed to be taking Lou at her word; he studied the road ahead of them and guided the horse carefully around the larger holes.

"So, what is it that you and The Kid do," Hickok asked Lou once they were moving, "besides producing boys?"

She shrugged. "A little bit of this and that. We have a few head of cattle, nothing big. Mostly we raise horses. The Kid started breeding quarter horses about eight years back. We train and sell them. They're great for working cattle – the ranchers love 'em."

Hickok smiled. "The Kid always did like horses. He was crazy about Katy."

Lou looked up at him. "He still is. Katy's a grand old lady now – we figure she's somewhere close to twenty-five, but she's still sound. The Kid bred her for a few years and we kept a couple of her foals. These days she spends most of her time in the pasture, but all the boys learned to ride on her and every now and then The Kid will go off with her for a day. I think he tells her all his secrets – he says she's a good listener."

Hickok laughed. "Sounds like The Kid."

"But what about you," Lou continued, looking at him more seriously. "I never figured you for a lawman. I always thought you'd settle down with a nice girl and raise a family. There were plenty of girls in Rock Creek who would have been happy to be Mrs. Hickok."

He wondered if she'd ever been one of them. The course of true love hadn't exactly run smooth for Lou and The Kid back in their Express days – they'd had their ups and downs. Hickok shrugged. "At one time, I thought I'd settle down, too. But when the war ended, one of the Union officers I scouted for recommended me for sheriff in a place called Plain Gulch – it's out in Kansas. After that, it seemed like the openings for lawmen just kept coming – and I kept taking them." He stopped, not wanting to explain further. He was having an unexpectedly good afternoon and talking about his gun and the endless stream of towns was only going to depress him. He wanted to enjoy the sun, Lou's company, and being Uncle Jimmy for awhile.

He could see she wasn't satisfied with his answer, but thankfully she didn't press. Instead, she asked, "Are you in touch with anyone from the Station?"

He shook his head. "No one. I read about Cody now and then, but that's it."

She smiled. "You mean 'Buffalo Bill?' Cody always did have a flair for the theater."

"He certainly did – he appears to be taking the acting thing pretty seriously now. It sounds like he's given up scouting altogether. What about you and The Kid – do you hear from anyone?"

Her smile faded. "We see Buck from time to time. His wife died in childbirth and he took it pretty hard. He drives cattle now, but he comes and stays with us when he's not on a drive. The boys love him – we all wish he would make our place his home." She sighed. "Other than that, I write to Rachel. She was a nurse during the war, and ended up marrying a newspaper writer and moving east. She seems happy."

"That's nice. What about Emma and Sam?"

Lou shook her head.

"Jesse?"

Lou looked up at Hickok sadly. "Same as Cody, except in a bad way. I read _about_ Jesse James in the newspapers, but I haven't heard _from_ him. Since he and Frank have taken to robbery…well, I'm just as happy. I wouldn't know what to say if I saw him." She shook her head. "I don't understand how he could grow up to be an outlaw - why we didn't have more influence on him. He couldn't have had a better father than Teaspoon."

Hickok gazed at the scenery thoughtfully. The town had disappeared behind them and the road, which was nothing more than wheel ruts in the grass, was bordered by small, scrubby trees. The place seemed greener than Sweetwater or Rock Creek. He liked it. "I don't know, Lou," he said quietly. "Jesse had less than a year with us. He had ten years with Frank, and Frank was his brother. It's tough to unwind that in a few months."

"Maybe," Lou agreed, although she didn't sound convinced. Hickok saw her glance at her son and understood that this was as much about her own boys as it was about Jesse. He could almost read her thoughts. _Please let my boys grow up to be good men_. _Please don't let them go_ _down the same path as Jesse._ He patted her knee gently. "Don't worry, Lou. I know with you and The Kid as parents, all your children are going to grow up right. They'll be fine."

She turned to him – surprised - and then ducked her head and took hold of his hand on her knee and squeezed it. He pretended not to notice that her eyes were moist. He was a little surprised himself at how quickly they'd fallen into earnest discussion. They'd always been able to talk in their Pony Express days, and for a moment it felt like fifteen years had melted away and they were back in the barn in Sweetwater trying to puzzle out life.

Except that they were sitting next to her fourteen-year-old son and she had two more sons waiting back home. Fifteen years could not be ignored. "So, James Ike," he said more lightly to the boy as Lou blinked a few times, "I trust you're a help to your parents? What do you do to make yourself useful?" He almost cringed when the words came out. It was such a boring thing to say.

But the boy didn't seem to mind. "I help my Pa with the horses," he said matter-of-factly. "And Ma with the cooking, sometimes. I can cook as good as she can."

Lou made a face. "Actually," she said to Hickok, "his cooking is better. Pretty much any of them are better, except maybe The Kid. Even Little Buck's flapjacks are lighter than mine."

Hickok laughed. He seemed to be doing that a lot. "So who's cooking tonight?"

Lou reached out and patted her son lightly on the back. "I think we'll ask Jimmy here to pitch in."

Hickok turned to her. "You know, it's going to get confusing with two Jimmy's."

Lou glanced between the two males. "Maybe we can use Jimmy and Little Jimmy?" she suggested. "I mean, we've got Buck and Little Buck."

James Ike frowned, clearly unhappy. "Little Buck is _eight_ ," he said sourly. "I'm almost fourteen and I'm not that little. I'm taller than you, Ma."

She reached up and squeezed the back of his neck affectionately. "I know. Do you have a better idea?"

The boy stared at her quietly.

"No?" Lou continued. "Well, why don't you think on it and let us know. In the meantime, I'm going to use Jimmy and Little Jimmy. I'm sure it will sort itself out." Her voice was easy and light, as if she were saying _this one's_ _not worth an argument_. Hickok wondered why he'd never pictured her as a mother. She was a natural. But then she'd shared a bunkhouse with six young men for a couple of years. She'd had plenty of practice.

The two-hour drive passed quickly – almost too quickly. Hickok hadn't laughed this much in a long time and he wouldn't have minded another hour with Lou. But Little Jimmy was steering them off the road and she was pointing her finger, saying, "You'll see the house in a minute." Sure enough, from the top of a small rise, he looked down at a house encircled by two barns and a group of corrals. The house was a plain, two-story building, painted a faded white with a porch on the front. He could see three figures moving about the corrals. They were too far away to make out the faces, but Hickok figured they had to be The Kid and her two other sons. One of the figures stopped to watch the wagon approach, then started walking briskly toward it.

" _Two_ barns?" Hickok asked Lou.

She gave him a wry smile. "The Kid likes horses – like we said."

The approaching figure gradually became recognizable and Hickok found himself studying The Kid as he neared the wagon. Time had been kinder to his friend than it had been to him, he thought. The Kid's hair was as thick as ever, although Hickok thought he could detect a little grey around the temples. And there were certainly lines on The Kid's face - but they appeared to be the result of laughter rather than hardship. The Kid stared at him with a concerned expression.

"Look who I found in town," Lou announced.

The Kid stared harder. "Jimmy?" he asked at last, as if he couldn't believe it.

"Also known as Serenity Springs' new Sheriff," Lou said.

"Well, I'll be damned…Jimmy. Hell, it's good to see you."

Little Jimmy pulled Dusty to a stop and Hickok climbed out of the wagon. The Kid reached up to assist Lou, putting his hands around her waist even though Hickok doubted that she needed any help. Nevertheless, she smiled at her husband and patted him lightly on the arm as her feet touched the ground. Then the Kid turned to Hickok. After a short pause, he enveloped Hickok in a hug, slapping him on the back, grinning broadly. "Jimmy," he said again, shaking his head as if at a loss for words. Hickok grinned back, equally unsure of what to say.

"Jimmy just rode into town today and would like a chance to clean up," Lou said to The Kid. "Why don't the boys and I unload the wagon and see to the horses, and you can show Jimmy the house and get some water heating for a bath."

 _And give the two of us the chance to talk alone_ , Hickok thought.

"Right," The Kid agreed. He started walking toward the house and Hickok turned to follow him.

"Welcome home, Jimmy," Lou said, and Hickok's heart beat faster for a few seconds.

 _Home._ For the first time in a long time, it felt right.

* * *

 _A/N 2: James Butler Hickok did become a lawman after the American Civil War, but this story isn't historically accurate. Then again, neither is the show; Hickok worked for Russell, Majors and Waddell, but never actually rode for the Pony Express._

 _The timing of this story puts it around 1876-77. In reality, Hickok died in 1876 at the age of 39. He was shot in the back of the head during a poker game in Deadwood, South Dakota. He was holding two pair - black aces and eights. To this day, the combination is still referred to as the "Dead Man's Hand."_

 _Thank you for reading._


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